Morning commute

The coffee sits warm in my belly,
its taste lingers in my mouth;
the edge of my notebook
sharp in the crease of my left thumb,
my right thumb and forefinger
feel the cylindrical joint of hard and soft plastic
as ink flows smoothly between lines.

Too many words …
a sweet thought of decluttering,
a recorded voice announces the next station (not mine),
and sunlight covers my page.


Burning Ice

an appendix of angst
whirls in stubborn curlicues
bitching, bitching …
bitching ad infinitum
shut up!

bedevilling words pass
a sleepless night

the obstacle breaker
parries, preserving my flame
from torrents of burning ice